Thursday, May 31, 2012

I hate reality TV. It's more than just the obvious fact that I'd be the first one voted off the island due to my tactless thirst for honesty. The queen bee would make a heartless remark about the fat chick, and I'd be the one to say, "You arrogant dog! You're just saying that to turn everyone against her." Then it would be over for me.

I've never been good at people games. If someone treads where they shouldn't, I don't give subtle hints. Instead I boldly yell, "Get out of there!" My son calls it a lack of filter and sites it as the main reason all of his girlfriends and sibling's boyfriends have been afraid of me. I'm not that scary, unless you're trying to hide the truth–I'll find it.

The other night, I woke to a running toilet and found my youngest daughter poised in front of the television watching brides who were competing for plastic surgery. Individuals claimed to have noses that were too big or breasts that were too small, but in my mind, the only thing they needed was a psychologist's bench.

What sort of message do these shows teach our kids? First off, you are not okay the way you are and must have plastic surgery in order to look good for your future husband. I don't know about you, but if my fiance supported my doing this, I'd tell him to take a hike.

As for my son, if I saw a future Mrs. Lansky embarrassing the competition with twisted remarks on national TV, I'd work hard to break the engagement.

Of course, my kids only date drop dead beautiful people anyway, so they'd never be on this plastic surgery show. But wait a minute, these girls weren't ugly either. It's not like they were 60+ years old and wanting a little botox to remove a wrinkle. Nor, were they victims of fire or accidents that had facial deformities. Absolutely nothing was wrong with the way any of them looked, so I have to question a doctor putting them through the surgery. Perhaps it was all about making money?

A Beautiful Bride

The winners of these shows are those who outsmart the others through cold, calculated, shrewdness. I don't know about you, but these are not the way I want people to act. Nor, am I in favor of humiliating individuals on national TV. It's as if we're telling our children that it's good to be cruel to others.

If this is any indication of the world to come, I'm glad I'll be checking out in thirty years or so.

Sunday, May 27, 2012

A guy is driving around the back woods of Montana, and he sees a sign in front of a broken down shanty-style house: 'Talking Dog For Sale.' He rings the bell and the owner appears and tells him the dog is in the backyard.

The guy goes into the backyard and sees a nice looking Labrador retriever sitting there.

"You talk?" he asks.

"Yep," the Lab replies.

After the guy recovers from the shock of hearing a dog talk, he says "So, what's your story?"

The Lab looks up and says, "Well, I discovered that I could talk when I was pretty young. I wanted to help the government, so I told the CIA. In no time at all, they had me jetting from country to country, sitting in rooms with spies and world leaders, because no one figured a dog would be eavesdropping."

"I was one of their most valuable spies for eight years running. But the jetting around really tired me out, and I knew I wasn't getting any younger so I decided to settle down. I signed up for a job at the airport to do some undercover security, wandering near suspicious characters and listening in. I uncovered some incredible dealings and was awarded a batch of medals.''I got married, had a mess of puppies, and now I'm just retired."The guy is amazed. He goes back in and asks the owner what he wants for the dog."Ten dollars," the guy says.

"Ten dollars? This dog is amazing! Why on earth are you selling him so cheap?"

Thursday, May 24, 2012

This week's GBE2 prompt is to pick a line from a book and write about it. Hop on Pop by Dr. Seuss is a strong story with well developed characters who like to skate on the dark side. The riveting plot places kids in extreme danger when they resort to Pop hopping.

But let's face it, one should not "Hop on Pop," and here's why. First off, if you're still calling your dad "Pop," chances are, you passed childhood a long time ago. Let's face it. How many kids do you know who call Daddy "Pop?"

So now that we've decided you're quite mature, Pop must be ancient--I mean hairs in the ears, false teeth, cane carrying old! The weak bones of senior citizens cannot handle being hopped on, especially if you're an American. Surely, you've heard the latest studies in the news. Obesity is at an epidemic in the states. With the width of average Americans, do grown fat people really need to be hopping on old men? Then again, there might be more to hop on if Pop is a butterball too. None the less, you might rupture Pop's spleen, break his bones, or God only knows what else.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named told me it is a biblical sin for an adult to make a parent bleed or to bruise one's dad. In fact, historically this was punishable by death. Many doctors will not operate on their parents for this reason. So, why in the world would you hop on Pop? Take my advice. Give it up, learn respect, and DON'T HOP ON POP!

Saturday, May 19, 2012

A woman was flying from Seattle to San Francisco. Unexpectedly, the plane was diverted to Sacramento along the way. The flight attendant explained that there would be a delay, and if the passengers wanted to get off the aircraft the plane would re-board in fifty minutes.

Everybody got off the plane except one lady who was blind. The man had noticed her as he walked by and could tell the lady was blind because her seeing eye dog lay quietly underneath the seats in front of her throughout the entire flight.

He could also tell she had flown this very flight before because the pilot approached her, and calling her by name, said, "Kathy, we are in Sacramento for almost an hour. Would you like to get off and stretch your legs?" The blind lady replied, "No thanks, but maybe Buddywould like tostretch his legs."Picture this:All the people in the gate area came to a complete standstill when they looked up and saw the pilot walk off the plane with a seeing eye dog! The pilot was even wearing sunglasses. People scattered. They not only tried to change planes, but they were trying to change airlines!

Thursday, May 17, 2012

It wasn't my birthday, Christmas, or any other reason to get a present; however, my dad took me to the store and told me to pick out a game. Dad paid four dollars for The Game of Life and helped me make a permanent memory of the joy of getting a present for no reason at all.

We weren't poor. In fact, we were quite well off. I had everything I needed; I just didn't have everything I wanted. Is that so bad?

Most of today's kids don't understand the true thrill of getting a gift since they are constantly bombarded with the spoils of childhood. My parents never bought me a new bike yet ocassionally bought me new toys. Add that to the hand-me-downs from older siblings, and I had a terrific stash!

My kids went to camp with a bunch of spoiled Dallas kids. Forgive me Texans, but these brats were ridiculous. They received care packages every single day of a month long session. One mother mailed her daughter bottled water because that from the tap was not good enough for her darling. Can you imagine how expensive it would be to mail water? Postage would probably cost more than the water itself. As the kids got these packages, they'd carelessly roll their eyes and poo poo the contents.

"I have enough beach towels. Anyone want this one?"

No joke. My daughter would come home with all sorts of care package goodies, so why spend the money to send her one? Don't get me wrong. She'd get a care package or two over the course of a month. When they arrived, they were appreciated too.

My daughter's best friend in the cabin also received as many care packages as my kid. One night the counselors confessed, "You two are our favorite campers!" Gee, I wonder why?

So, when the group asks, "What's your guilty pleasure?" I'm not thinking of something fattening or expensive. My mind goes for something I don't need--such as candy. It has no nutritional value nor does candy fix hunger or thirst. I don't need it, and there is no point in spending even a measly two dollars on something like this. Therefore, here is my sugar free, low calorie, cheap, guilty pleasure. You're probably thinking, Is that all?

Yes. That's all. I've learned to be content with my lot, and furthermore, I don't buy things that truly make me feel guilty. It's not worth it. Ironically, candy was the 10¢ item my mother would often break down and buy me as we went through the grocery store check out. So, I guess in that way, I got what I wanted.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Last Friday, I took my daughter to the econo hour theater. Get this: a first run movie for $4.00 plus popcorn and soft drink for $1.00! On the way to the movie, we stopped by my husbands office. Suddenly, a deafening pop riddled the air and two frantic females ran circles while screaming, "Oh, my God! Oh, my God!"

I thought for sure someone had been shot from the sound, yelping, and white smoke rising in the air. But no. An old man backed up.

Apparently, the two women pulled into a parking lot to switch cars. They got out and watched this man crash into their cars and one other. Time to take away the keys, before a person rather than just a car gets injured.

Saturday, May 12, 2012

This weeks Writer's Post topic is "Stirring the Pot." Here is my take on the matter.

Have you ever been cooking when suddenly you have to run to the bathroom? You tell your husband or kids to stir the pot, but do they? Noooo. By the time you're no longer indisposed, the soup has either boiled onto the stove or is crusted on the bottom. When this happens the results are two fold. If you're lucky, you're eating burnt food and scraping the bottom of the pan for an hour or so. But if you're unlucky, three firetrucks come tearing down the street with their sirens screaming and the neighbors peeking out their windows.

So why is it people never listen to Mom and stir the pot? It's a national tragedy! In fact, I'll bet if you counted the number of times firetrucks–What? What's that you say? Figurative meaning, not literal meaning?

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Twenty-six years ago this month, my husband and I honeymooned in Bermuda, where we ordered drinks and dinner at The Swizzle Inn. With the typical sunny skies, a fabulous island breeze, and mild temperatures, we sat outside under that green awning in the picture above. The 'Swizzle Inn' sign dangled from a chain straight ahead of me while I sipped a tasty golden-colored Bermuda rum swizzle.

Our dinner conversation bubbled with the excitement of the golden retriever puppy we'd be meeting as soon as we returned home to Memphis. But most of all, we puzzled over what to name him. It took a flash of inspiration to glance at the sign and know that Swizzle would soon become our first born son.

Puppy Love

We first met Swizzle at our mayor's son's home after answering an ad in the newspaper. We hopped into the red Jeep and drove the short distance to have the ultimate dog picking experience. Experienced dog owners know to choose the precious fur ball who's asleep in the corner. However, while in our young twenties, we never got that memo. The dog owners led us outside to where the litter had been kept. In fact, they stayed outside so much, that going to the bathroom in the grass was all they knew. Instantly house broken! Of course with smart dogs like golden retrievers, the house breaking routine is never too difficult.

As the litter of golden delights romped through the yard with enough energy to power a house if we could only learn to harness it, we checked them out.

Swizzle & Me - 1986

Each fluffy baby radiated with young life and breathed tuna fish scented breath as they darted by. With so much cuteness in one yard, it was tough knowing which puppy to choose. As a result, I did what any young crazy person would do. I plopped onto the ground and waited a nano second to see who'd stop by to meet me. Big mistake! Within moments, I was covered in wet kisses and muddy paw prints all down my red-collared shirt. Never had I felt so loved as I did sitting Indian style on the patio of the dog owners back yard.

Swizzle & Erica

Although all the babies were cute–what golden pup isn't?–Swizzle was the energetic little guy who consistently made it to the center of my lap and close to my heart. He'd hop over all his brothers and sisters to make sure I noticed his presence and make him our very own.

We took the pup home, nurtured him with plenty of love, and watched him grow into a handsome stud dog.

Memories of Swizzle

After twelve years of joy, we lost our beloved Swizzle, but his memory lives on forever. We've even nailed his dog charm to his favorite spot by the stairwell.

Swizzle's photograph was hung in The Swizzle Inn in Bermuda along with many other photographs from fans of the restaurant. Hopefully, it's still there.

This post written in partnership with Dog Fence DIY and their team of dog containment system specialists. The DIY team seeks to engage dog owners and promote positive and safe dog safety practices. Please visit our sponsor at http://www.dogfencediy.com

Sunday, May 6, 2012

This week's GBE2 topic is "Parody," which is hard since my favorite movies are those that make fun of serious ones. So I figure I'll have to take a serious topic in my life and get a laugh out of it. Why should this post be different than any others?

My gynecologist and I are working to make fun summer plans. See I've got this growth in my uh-hm that's the size of a red, ripe, juicy strawberry--although it's shaped more like Charlie Brown's head than Stewie Griffin's.

Charlie Brown

Stewie Griffin

This little bugger bear not only makes my stomach protrude like a pregnant woman's, but it has also caused a bloody bad time along with tummy aches. However, my hormones indicate I'm still well within my baby making years.

Now if they take away my female parts, am I still a female? I don't anticipate growing chest hair and swinging on vines, since the male parts won't be there either. Maybe I should change my name to Pat.

As an adrogynous person, I wouldn't have to wear dresses or paint my toe nails--not that I do anyway. I wouldn't have to style my hair nor wear make up. But most importantly, I'll surely lose ten pounds when they take this organ out? See I carried three babies in it, with the heaviest kid being over eight pounds, plus the placenta. A flimsy little organ could never carry that much baby weight, could it? Maybe getting rid of these used auto parts isn't such a bad idea after all. However, why is it called a HYSterectomy? Shouldn't it be a HERsterectomy?

Saturday, May 5, 2012

Before the Battle of Agincourt in 1415, the French, anticipating victory over the English, proposed to cut off the middle finger of all captured English soldiers. Without the middle finger it would be impossible to draw the renowned English longbow and therefore they would be incapable of fighting in the future. This famous English longbow was made of the native English Yew tree, and the act of drawing the longbow was known as 'plucking the yew' (or 'pluck yew').

Much to the bewilderment of the French, the English won a major upset and began mocking the French by waving their middle fingers at the defeated French, saying, See, we can still pluck yew! Since 'pluck yew' is rather difficult to say, the difficult consonant cluster at the beginning has gradually changed to a labiodentals fricative F', and thus the words often used in conjunction with the one-finger-salute! It is also because of the pheasant feathers on the arrows used with the longbow that the symbolic gesture is known as 'giving the bird.'And yew thought yew knew every plucking thing!

Here are some interesting tweets on the topic. I'll behave myself and not correct the grammar or spelling.

Thursday, May 3, 2012

The Commercial Appeal posts many strange stories, like the article about Bush Senior parachuting out of an airplane on his eightieth birthday. Next to the article was a photo similar to the one above with the headline: The Aftermath! Apparently that wasn't stranger than other photos because Jay Leno never used it for headline news. So, in order to find something stranger, I searched the internet for bizarre news stories. Are they any "stranger" than what I found in the Commercial Appeal?

Man robs a Dollar General and post pictures on Facebook with his loot. Or maybe the story about a hiker who was attacked by a lion and was then saved by a bear that loosened its grip. I read another story about a man who lived with a bullet in his head for ninety-five years. Hmm. All these weird stories involve the male gender.

So tell me, did I successfully cover the GBE2 topic of "Stranger?" Oh, stranger. You meant someone I don't know!